


Isn't This Enough?

by ClearEyes95



Series: How Lucky We Are To Be Alive Right Now [4]
Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/M, Mexican History, Mexican Revolution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:57:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18732058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClearEyes95/pseuds/ClearEyes95
Summary: When Ernesto convinces Héctor to leave on tour, Imelda isn’t too happy about it.





	Isn't This Enough?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Coco. I loved the movie. I aso happen to be Mexican, although not from the same region.

Imelda was kneading bread, but it looked more like she was trying to strangle the dough. Occasionally, she would murmur made-up insults like ‘cabeza de pepino,’ ‘canalla,’ ‘bueno para nada,’ and so forth because, on the one hand, her mother had taught her that ladies do not swear. On the other hand, her daughter was playing with two old metal spoons a few steps away from her and she would not teach her daughter that swearing was acceptable.

Héctor had been chased out of the house with a rolling pin and, three hours later, he had not yet dared to come back. _Good for him_ , Imelda thought to herself, _because if he comes back…_ she let the thought hang. What would she do to him? Even though she thought wanted to strangle him, she wanted to hit him with the roller pin, the chancla, the pan, and her own hand, she didn’t, really. She was hurt, very hurt, that he thought Ernesto could offer him something she didn’t. She was also worried; the country was wild with guerrilla forces, and anything could happen to her husband.

She sighed. She had kept her distrust towards Ernesto to herself. Her naïve husband loved Ernesto like a brother and anything she said against him could antagonize Héctor and that would be very unwise. She had a feeling that Ernesto would exploit any and all weaknesses he perceived in their marriage; in fact, he was probably doing just that right now in the plaza.

She growled. Why hadn’t that man died in the revolution? She felt her hackles rise like those of a lioness at the thought of Ernesto de la Cruz.

Just then, she heard the door creak. She smirked; her husband still hadn’t fixed that door, and now she was paying the price.

“Querido,” she called, “you’re home already?”

Héctor walked into the kitchen hiding his face behind his hat. She never, ever called him that unless she was incredibly mad at him. And he knew it.

“Where were you?” Imelda asked, turning to him and placing her hands on her hips.

Héctor gulped, “With Ernesto, by the plaza.” Her husband totally looked the part of a scolded child.

“And what did he say?” she prompted.

“He said you were overreacting,” Héctor answered, and then he mumbled something.

“What was that?” Imelda asked with a glare.

“He also said that it was probably that day of the month,” Héctor replied softly, partially hiding behind the wall. He picked up Coco, who was making grabby hands at him, which was probably wise, because now Imelda could not hit him, even though she was sorely tempted.

She reminded herself to take a deep breath; yelling again would only prove Ernesto had a point.

“For your information, querido, it is not that period of the month, as I’m still breastfeeding. But of course, Ernesto wouldn’t know that, would he?” Imelda said, and Héctor had the decency to look sheepish.

“I didn’t say I agreed with what he said,” Héctor shrugged, “he is just trying to convince me that our venture is a good idea.”

Imelda sighed as they came back to the argument that started everything.

“You know that I love you, right,” Imelda said, eyes growing soft and catching Héctor by surprise, who was totally expecting another angry rant.

“I love you too,” he replied.

“You know that I worry about you, right?” she pressed. Héctor nodded, suddenly feeling guilty. “The countryside is dangerous right now. Too many bandits and not enough police. And even if there were police, who knows on whose side they are right now? Wouldn’t it be better to learn a trade, here in Santa Cecilia? I know that the old shoe maker was looking for an apprentice after his son died in the war.”

Héctor sighed, setting little Coco on his hip as she absently chewed the hem of his hat with her gums.

“I don’t want to go, either,” Héctor confessed, “but I feel bad that he didn’t even know we got married. If I could do this only for six months, then at least he wouldn’t think I replaced him.”

“I don’t think that’s the real issue here,” Imelda retorted, “he is a grown man. You do not need to protect his feelings. You have a life, a responsibility, and sometimes you have to go your separate ways from close friends. That’s life.”

“You are right,” Héctor said, “but what about food and clothes? I will not earn enough to feed you nor Coco as an apprentice to the old shoe maker, maybe not even for a few years until I’ve established myself.”

“We can do it,” Imelda argued, “I can go to the market to sell my embroidery and my lace. I can sell cakes, cookies, pan de muerto and conchas de azúcar. We can do anything as long as we’re together.”

Héctor sighed, but didn’t look at her. A shiver ran down Imelda’s spine. At last, Héctor spoke again.

“It will only be for six months. To soothe Ernesto, but most importantly, to provide for you and for Coco.”

Imelda’s lips thinned until they were a line, “Is that what your final choice? Is it worth losing Coco, losing me? Isn’t this enough?”

“I will be back, mi amor, I swear,” Héctor replied, “and when I do, I will never leave you again.”

The next day, Héctor was gone. Imelda didn’t cry in front of him, nor when he was in the house, but she broke down in tears as soon as he was out the door. She hadn’t even wanted to kiss him goodbye, but he stole one last kiss from her as he went through the door. She heard him sing to little Coco that sweet, sweet lullaby he’d made for her, and in her heart she prayed that this would not be the last time she’d see her husband.

The first months she received a weekly letter, with a stipend. He would tell her of the places he saw, of the people he met, and of Ernesto’s constant encouragement –which to her sounded more like delusions of grandeur –and she breathed a sigh of relief every time. She had taken to waiting for the mailman, who by now knew her by nombre y apellido. On the fourth month, Héctor wrote that they found an agent willing to sign a contract for them, however, the ‘tour’ would have to be extended. Imelda yelled for days, and even the mailman seemed reluctant to approach her to deliver the next letter.

Héctor left on August. He was supposed to return in February. With the contract, he would only be back by the next August. Meanwhile, Imelda brought her lace and embroidery to the market, and while it wouldn’t have been enough otherwise, the money Héctor helped. It reassured Imelda that he was thinking about them.

On March she stopped receiving Héctor’s letters. With the letters, the money stopped as well. Her first thoughts were frantic, thinking something bad had happened to Héctor. She was about to go look for him but her mother-in-law convinced her it was better to stay home. She believed in her son, and Imelda tried to believe in him as well. However, the letters never resumed. And Imelda waited. August came and went, and Héctor still wasn’t home. Around that time, one single letter was delivered, written by Ernesto.

Imelda burned it in the oven as tears of humiliation and rage flowed down her tears. According to Ernesto, Héctor had up and gone with a mujersuella he found in a cantina. According to the letter, Ernesto was just as angry as Imelda probably was. She didn’t believe Ernesto’s story; his deepest desire was to separate them in order to go back to the good old days. She did believe, however, that Héctor wasn’t going to come back.

Whether he left for fame or for another woman, he would never step back into their home. All those months of worrying, of lying awake in bed wondering if he was thinking of her the way she was thinking of him, of wondering if they were looking at the same moon, and the same stars; all those months wasted on a man whose word was as brittle as a rusted pan, as paper when it touches water. He’d left her, betrayed her, but this time it hurt; because she had always expected her father to hurt her, but she allowed herself to love Héctor and believed his promises of love and family.

It didn’t take long for the rumor to spread around town that Héctor had abandoned his family, and Imelda became the talk of the town. Her in-laws tried to comfort her, they did, but they could not believe that their son would do something like this. They had taught him better. And yet, Héctor left her, without means to survive alone in a world of men, without his promises of companionship, love and friendship, with a broken family.

She moved to a small house with the money she’d managed to save, got rid of any and all musical instruments, and went to the old shoe maker. If he accepted her, well; if he wanted a _man_ , she would show him she could be just as tough as any man, as hardworking and as ruthless. She would not let her daughter starve, even if it was the last thing she did.

**Author's Note:**

> cabeza de pepino - cucumber head  
> canalla - jerk  
> bueno para nada - good for nothing  
> chancla - flip flop  
> querido - my dear/dearest  
> pan de muerto - sweet bread made traditionally for the celebration of Dia de Muertos in Mexico.  
> conchas de azucar - sweet bread with crusted sugar on top. Best of the best in my personal opinion.  
> nombre y apellido - name and last name. Mexican idiom: To know someone by "name and last name" is to know them really well, maybe even be close friends.  
> mujersuella - prostitute


End file.
